


can you make it feel like home (if I tell you you're mine)

by quakeriders



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Mating Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 18:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18596539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakeriders/pseuds/quakeriders
Summary: The night sky was different here.The darkness was more intricate; less black, more deep shades blue and purple, flecked with silver stars like freckles or a dusting of sugar.Like his eyes, she thought and gritted her teeth.Or: In which Rhys saves Feyre from her wedding, but she can't get out of her dress without help.





	can you make it feel like home (if I tell you you're mine)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Hey if you wanna write it I've got a feysand one shot idea... so it's when feyre first stays at the night court and she absolutely hates rhys and he's flirting with her and basically idc really I just want them to be like "I hate you" "tell me you hate me" type thing whilst making out/ fucking :) so the real angsty enemy type shit :)_

The night sky was different here.

The darkness was more intricate; less black, more deep shades blue and purple, flecked with silver stars like freckles or a dusting of sugar.

 _Like his eyes_ , she thought and gritted her teeth.

She’d been standing before the glassless windows in her bedroom for hours now. Her wedding gown still pressing down on her like a weight; like an anchor dragging her into the depths of a bottomless ocean.

She had tried and failed to get out of it when she had first entered the room, but the countless buttons running down the middle of her back were impossible to reach.

So, Feyre had gritted her teeth and turned to watch as the last rays of the sun disappeared between the snowy mountains and the true beauty of the night court had revealed itself to her.

It had become easier to breathe in the darkness.

Feyre felt him approach before she could hear him. She could feel him, that dark power of his tugging at her, tapping against her mind and whispering in an old, forgotten language.

And a second later, a faint knock sounded on her door.

“Yes?” She breathed, her voice small and tired and empty.

The door opened soundlessly and there he was.

She didn’t need to face him to know that Rhys was the mirror image of the night sky stretching before her. With his brown skin, his dark clothes and even darker hair. And those eyes—

She sucked in a low breath and squared her shoulders. “Did you need something?”

She felt him move farther into the room and had to fight against the urge to look at him.

“I could ask you the same thing. It’s been hours and you haven’t moved an inch.”

Feyre let out a derisive snort. “Here I thought you would grant me at least a sliver of privacy.”

He was close enough for her to feel the thrum of power emanating from him. The next time she inhaled, her lungs filled with his scent and Feyre almost closed her eyes at the sensation.

“There are clothes in the armoire.” Rhys said, his voice carefully blank.

“I know.”

“I imagine they would be more comfortable than your  _lovely_  dress.” He pressed on.

Oh, the bastard knew. And he was taunting her. Anger spiked in her veins and she almost turned to face him.

“Hmm.” Feyre replied, her tone noncommittal, although her fingers were shaking.

“What was I thinking, it must be impossible to undo those tiny buttons all by yourself.” She could hear the faint smirk that was no doubt playing on his lips.

Feyre pursed her lips and lifted her chin. “Why don’t you assist me then?”

There was a beat of silence and she had to bite back a triumphant smile.

She imagined that it was unusual for Rhys to be struck speechless and the euphoria of that moment only lasted until she felt a pair of strong, warm hands gather up the curls that tumbled down her back and gently place them over one shoulder.

She swallowed hard, as Rhys’ breath fanned over her neck and he purred, “It would be my absolute pleasure, Feyre darling.”

Shivers chased down her spine and she curled her hands into fists, fought against the urge to arch her spine and lean into his touch.

And throughout it all, her lungs were full of his intoxicating scent.

Rationally, she could barely feel his fingers as they descended upon the first button, right between her shoulder blades. But she knew that they were there and that was enough for her heart to race in her chest.

If he heard it, he didn’t comment. And she was grateful. Even while she hated feeling that way towards him.

He worked his way slowly down her back, each opened button revealing more of her skin to him and Feyre was shaking with restraint.

She didn’t know what she would do once she allowed herself to move. Maybe she would arch her back, angle her neck to allow him to place kisses there — or turn around and shove him out of the room.

Her emotions were a whirlwind and she could feel them mirrored in him.

Rhys had told her that he could pick up on her emotions because of the bargain between them, no had hinted at it— as if the bastard was able to give a straight answer even when his life depended on it. However, she wondered if their proximity had triggered her own ability to pick up on his emotions as well.

Because she could feel it. A bond that bound her to him. And across that bond, she could feel the restraint as he kept his fingers from shaking, from pressing them into her exposed skin, from touching her, form tasting her.

She let out a sharp gasp as that wave of desire washed over her and she took one stumbling step forward.

“Rhys.”

The word had escaped her lips before she could stop herself. Her blood was on fire and even as something inside her echoed his desire, she hated herself for it. Hated him for it, even more.

“Tell me to stop.” Rhys whispered, once more reaching for her dress and resuming his work. “Tell me to leave.”

She didn’t.

And he kept moving lower. Bit by bit, the bodice of the dress loosened and she could breathe easier.

At least she would have been able to, if she wasn’t already reduced to sharp, shallow breaths. Rhys’ wasn’t doing much better.

“Do you want me to leave, Feyre? Tell me to stop.” His tone was urgent now, almost pained, pleading and Feyre could feel something dark and painful roiling inside of him.

She shook her head. “No. Don’t stop. Stay.”

That terrible feeling ebbed away, like a retreating wave and they both relaxed into each other.

He finally reached the buttons beneath her ribcage and she knew that she could manage from there. Still, she let him continue.

The top half of the dress had come completely undone and those puffy sleeves had slid down her shoulders. She couldn’t be bothered to gather them up, to cover up her chest that he could surely see over her shoulders.

He had seen more of her under the mountain.

Touched her more intimately than this under the mountain.

The memories flashed through her and another wave of blinding fury sparked in her.

“I hate you.” She growled, even as she let him undo the buttons at the small of her back.

“I know.” He replied.

The dress came completely undone around her and Feyre slid her arms out, pushing the bodice down to her waist.

She should tell him to leave.

She didn’t.

Instead, she reached blindly for his arm with one hand and used the other to push the dress further down. The skirts were voluminous enough to reach up to her knees even when pooled at the ground. Feyre steadied herself by wrapping her fingers tightly around him and took a large step out of the circle of white tulle.

Rhys’ gripped her by the waist and once she was finally free of that cage, she stood facing him in nothing but scraps of white lace that barely covered anything.

His eyes were fixed on her face.

His expression was dark, promising death and destruction and she knew that he had counted her ribs as he removed that horrible dress. Knew that his eyes had trailed over her bones that were sharp and jutting out in all the wrong places. His hand on her waist was large enough to almost encircle her completely and Feyre wanted to cover herself up, to hide the evidence of her shredded soul, of the truth hiding beneath the silks and tulle and bright colours.

“No.” The word was nothing but a low growl. Rhys let go of her waist only to cup her face with both his hands. “You’re beautiful.”

There was nothing but fierce honestly in his face and it rubbed her the wrong way. “I don’t care about what you think.”

He let out a rough laugh and his hands slipped from her cheeks down to her neck. “Oh, don’t I know it, Feyre darling.”

The feeling of his fingers against her throat send a spike of feeling down her body and it must have travelled across their bond as well, because his nostrils flared suddenly, his pupils flaring, eating up the galaxies in them.

There was just one word to describe the look on his face.

Hunger.

And Feyre was sure that it was mirrored in her own.

She hadn’t even made the decision to move before her hands were gripping him by the front of his tunic, pulling his face down to hers.

At the first touch of their lips, Rhys growled and sound went straight to her core.

She loosed a growl of her own and then her teeth were dragging over his bottom lip, breaths heavy, hands searching for a way to meet skin.

She’d never felt like this. Half-feral with lust and hate and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or rip out his throat.

“Easy there.” Rhys purred, pulling his bottom lip away from her teeth and Feyre latched onto his neck instead.

“Tell me to stop then.” She growled against his skin, licking up the column of his throat, then dragging her teeth back down.

Rhys groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “Never.”

She could feel his power wrapping around her like a second skin and it felt like he was dragging his nails softly over every inch of her skin all at once.

She bit down hard, rocking her hips into him and moaning. “Stop making it feel so good.”

“Can’t.” Rhys replied, voice hoarse as his lips found her temple, kissed down her cheek, her jaw and tilted her face up to press kisses down her throat.

Feyre groaned again, hands sliding down his tunic until she found the hem and slid underneath, to finally,  _finally_  touch skin.

Her nails dragged over the panes of his stomach, up and over his chest, pulling the tunic  with them. He let go of her to pull it over his head and throw it into the dark room.

Feyre realised that everything around them had gotten dark. His power was pulsing around them like a living, breathing thing and if she hadn’t been occupied by the high lord before her, she would have taken her time to inspect the clouds of darkness swirling against her skin like ink in water.

“What do you want from me?” She asked him, dragging her hands over his shoulders, down his arms and back up. She was unable to stop touching him and she was yearning for more. She wanted him pressed against her, wanted his weight to press her into a mattress and—

Rhys lifted her off her feet, hands braced on her waist and Feyre wrapped her legs around him instinctively. His lips found her collarbone, kissing and sucking their way slowly to curve of her breast.

“I’ll take anything,” Rhys breathed against her chest. “Everything you’re willing to give me.”

“I don’t  _want_  to give you anything.” Feyre gasped, even as she ground her hips against his, desperate for any sort of friction where she most needed it. Wanted it.

“Don’t you?” He asked, teeth grazing over a nipple that was still covered by white lace.

Distantly, she was aware that it was supposed to be Tamlin who had his hands all over her on their wedding night. But, that voice was small and the need for Rhysand was a roar in her veins that drowned out anything and everything else.

She rocked into him again and his lips closed over the lace, sucking hard enough for her to moan.

“Take it off.” Feyre ground out, her own hands busy being tangled in his hair, pulling and pushing him where she wanted him to go.

“As you wish.”

And the lace vanished with a snap of his fingers. It simply turned into shimmery white dust and flowed away with the breeze.

Then his lips and tongue were finally on her. He licked and kissed and nipped at her until she was holding onto his shoulders, her nails digging in, with her head thrown back, deep moans tearing from her with each one of his actions.

“Rhys.” Feyre growled.

She could feel him smirk against her. That bastard.

“What is it, Feyre darling?” He asked, lips moving against the underside of her breast, while his nose was grazing the nipple playfully. “What do you want?”

“I hate you.” She told him again and pushed away from him so hard that he was forced to set her back on her feet.

And then she placed her hands on his chest, fingers splaying wide and pushed. He stumbled, regaining his footing almost immediately only to follow her silent command and kept walking backwards until he was standing with his legs brushing against the bed.

A look of panic flashed in his eyes and across their bond, but Rhys grabbed her, twisting them too fast for Feyre to keep up with and suddenly her back was pressed into the mattress and Rhys was over her.

Her legs parted, knees pulling up and wrapping over his hips. He fit perfectly against her body, but she pushed that thought away and pulled him in for a hard kiss.

Their lips met with such force, that their teeth clacked against each other. It was primal and intoxicating and the best kiss she ever had. Shivers of want trailed through her body, so consuming that Feyre forgot why she was supposed to hate Rhys and why she should be pushing him away not pulling him closer, closer, closer.

She wanted him. Wanted him all over her. Wanted him inside her.

Her fingers didn’t shake as they found their way to his pants. They undid his belt, even as she kept kissing him with a ferocity that should have scared her. They unbuttoned his pants, even as she dragged her teeth over his bottom lip and he groaned, pressing his hardness into her.

She slid them down and Rhys broke away from her lips only to twist her face with one hand and press kisses to her jawline, down her neck and then began sucking.

Her hands were sliding down his underwear, when a thought crossed her mind.

Not the fact that Rhysand’s teeth were at her neck and he could end her life with one bite. No, it was the absolute certainty that he never would. That despite everything she felt, the hatred and the revulsion and the distrust and the resentment, she knew that he would never hurt her.

She didn’t know how or why, but she’d never been more sure of anything else in her life.

He seemed to read her like an open book, because his touch became more gentle, his lips brushed softly over her sensitive neck and even the way his erection pressed into her, seemed less urgent.

It felt like he was trying to tell her something.

Like he was trying to be gentle and… loving.

A small snarl ripped from her throat and she twisted her face to capture his lips with her own. She wanted him to be rough. Wanted him to stop kissing her like.. like he loved her.

She used her feet to push his pants and underwear down and slid her arms around his back to roughly run her nails down it.

He hissed, his hips snapping into hers and the tight fist around her heart relaxed. There was nothing but the thin scrap of lace between them and she tilted her hips up to rub her aching core against him.

Rhys let out another hiss and tried to slip down her body. Feyre crossed her ankles over his back, holding him close and gasped, “Just fuck me. Now.”

He made a sound that was more animal than fae and she heard the soft hiss of lace being torn apart. His eyes met hers, wild and hungry and searching.

She didn’t flinch away from his gaze. Just looked at him, at that face she hated and yet.. Feyre reached between them, wrapping her hands around his cock and aligned him with her opening. Her legs pressed down on him, urging him to move and yet, he didn’t.

He just kept looking at her, panting and with his legs shaking. “Do you truly want this? Are you sure?”

She nodded, but when he didn’t move for another couple of heart beats, she gasped, “Yes, cauldron. I want this. I want you, Rhysand. Just fuck—”

He pushed into her and every thought in her mind faded away.

They moaned as he filled her and Feyre’s eyes fell shut. The fingers that were still on his back dug in deeper and she almost sobbed when he finally began moving inside her.

Slow and hard, pushing in so deep that each time he stilled, Feyre moaned and each time he pulled out, she used her feet to push him back in immediately.

“Gods.” Rhys growled, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

She could feel his harsh breaths as he thrust into her, could feel the muscles in his back shift and tense with each motion, could feel his hipbones crushing against hers with each snap of his hips.

It felt like nothing beyond where their bodies joined existed.

It felt like Feyre had never truly been alive before this moment.

The pressure at the end of her spine kept building with each thrust he made into her and all Feyre could do was tilt her hips up and hold onto him as she came apart, bit by bit. As the world shifted and she was thrown into a space where nothing but this moment mattered.

“Feyre—” Rhys groaned, his voice tinged with desperation and want.

A feeling, foreign and overwhelming, swelled in her chest and she could barely breathe from the force of it. Her toes curled and her blood turned to flames as she screamed and her released barrelled through her like a wave during a storm.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter as she shuddered and clawed at him, as she told him to keep going, to go harder, faster, to just giver her more. As she broke apart again and again, until she was no longer able to remember her own name.

But she remembered his. Screamed it, as his rhythm faltered and his teeth dug into the soft curve of her neck and bit down. He came inside her, hips pressed so tightly to hers that lightning flashed behind her eyes and her legs shook around him.

They remained like that. With him inside her, with her legs locked around him, as both of them panted, gasping for air and sanity.

Because she could feel him. Could feel that he was just as wrecked as she was.

Finally, he slid out of her and her legs fell apart, her body limp and spent. Rhys twisted to lay beside her on the bed, his chest heaving and covered in sweat. Not just his, but hers, too.

She watched him for a long time, catching her own breath.

He didn’t face her. Rhys just kept looking at the ceiling, his lips parted as he breathed in and out.

She knew that he could feel her eyes on him, could feel emotions stirring in him, even as the pleasure of what they had done lingered in his veins.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He finally said, sitting up and reaching for his underwear and pants.

Her breath caught in her throat. But then, her eyes landed on the mountain of tulle and chiffon and lace by the windows and she realised that he was right.

Tears welled in her eyes. Not because of his rejection, but because she should have been the one to say the words. She should have told him to leave. Should have told him to stop.

But despite it all, she couldn’t regret what had happened.

Because whatever it was, she hadn’t felt alive like this since.. She didn’t know if she had ever felt more alive.

However, she felt something else, too.

Guilt. A guilt so heavy and suffocating that it almost felt like she was back walking down the aisle and seeing those red petals all around her.

Her tears slipped form her cheeks, hot and heavy and she pulled the covers up around her.

“You’re right.” She told him.

He finally looked at her. And at the sight of whatever was on her face, he whispered gently, “Feyre, I—”

“You should go.” Her tone was hard. Cold. Despite the tears streaming down her cheeks, she didn’t sound weak as she said them.

Rhys looked at her for one more breath, before the darkness swallowed him whole and she was left alone, naked and crying and not knowing what to feel.

And something inside her broke apart at his absence.

 

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave feedback, i really suffered while writing this one.


End file.
